What Happens in Point Lookout
by Mrs. Oakenshield
Summary: He didn't believe in love; not because it was just a word, but because he thought it didn't exist. A series of short one-shots. FLW/Desmond Lockheart. Rated M for future chapters.
1. Beginnings

**A/N: I've played through the Point Lookout DLC hundreds of times and always thought that Desmond Lockheart and the Lone Wandered would make a great companionship... if you can get past Desmond's attitude and his swearing. Contains some spoilers and adult content. Enjoy!**

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She must be the most idiotic person to _ever_ walk into his mansion, Desmond Lockheart decides, as he watches the smoothskin with annoyed, half-lidded eyes. Sure, she'd helped him with the Tribal attack- like he barely needed her aid in the first place- but now she seemed like her good deeds had won her a stay in the mansion and a good-nights rest. She was wrong.

"Hey, uh, smoothskin?" Desmond says, trying to get the girl's attention, though she's busy introducing her own filthy animal to his pups, Freki and Geri. He almost shoots her mutt right then and there, but he takes a deep breath to calm his nerves and jams his finger against his temple instead.

"Aisling," She says, turning to look at him with a kind of proper smile he can't recall seeing since the Great War in 2077, "But you can call me Ash."

"Okay, _smoothskin_," Desmond growls and Ash rolls her eyes, "What do think you're doing here, anyways? I don't remember sending out invitations."

"Oh, _ha_,_ ha_," She exaggerates, and Desmond scowls as she steps toward him, "If I hadn't have gotten here in time, the Tribals would have ripped you apart and eaten your dogs for dinner. A 'thank you' would be much more appreciated."

Desmond opens his mouth to speak- not to thank her, of course,_ never_ to thank her- but he grimaces and spins around on his heels and proceeds to walk in the opposite direction, hoping that if he ignored her, _Ash_, she'd just ignore him too and continue on with whatever it was she was doing.

"Hey, where are you going?" Ash asks, and Desmond's pace quickens as he hears her footsteps echoing behind him, "Oh, stop being such a baby."

"The last time I checked, babies shit themselves and cry nonstop. Have you ever thought of glasses?" Desmond calls over his shoulder, and he turns around to see Ash for a split second before slamming the doors of his room in front of her. On the other side, Ash groans as she hears the lock click into place.

Ash sighs in disappointment and runs her fingers through her dark brown hair. Coming to Point Lookout had been nothing far than a disaster. Back in the wasteland, the boat appeared to be her refuge; the sadness and grief of losing her father slowly floating away as she listened to the excited hum of the engine. Charon had begged to join her and Dogmeat, his fear of losing _her_ had grown since James had passed, but she insisted that she needed the time to cope with what had happened. After hours of arguing, he'd agreed, and Ash wondered if he was beginning to regret his decision like she was now.

Dogmeat whined beside her, his ears drooping at her exhausted expression. She forced a tired smile and said, "Let's go, Dogmeat. I bet Tobar will take us back home.", though she had barely any bottlecaps in her backpack.

From inside his room, Desmond grumbled to himself as he listened to Ash. A part of his mind urged him to go after her, and he fought with his hand against his doorknob, hoping she'd just leave fast enough before his brain could pull an unforgiving stunt. He lost and opened the door loudly, hustling to catch up with Ash.

"Smooth- Ash!" He called, catching sight of her in the first large room of the mansion. She turned, surprised to see the Ghoul standing breathless behind her.

"Forget to tell me not to let the door hit me on the way out?" She asked.

"No," Desmond answered, though that would have been pretty funny, he'd have to remember to write that down somewhere, "You can stay. Here. But you've got to help me with a little problem of mine… Agreed?"

Ash narrowed her eyes. Was he joking; toying with her just to see her humiliated again? The look he gave her was genuine; his eyes unmoving and his expression waiting, maybe even a bit eager. She looked down at Dogmeat, whose tail was wagging, and lifted her gaze back up to Desmond.

"Agreed."


	2. Teeth

The sound had been echoing throughout the mansion for well over a minute. It wasn't a natural sound, though, nothing's natural in Point Lookout. But it was nighttime, and nighttime meant sleep, and if Desmond didn't get any of it he'd be ten kinds of crazy the following morning.

So, with a tired groan, he threw his sheets off his bed and stumbled through the darkness toward the source of the noise. He nearly stepped on Geri and Freki in the process, who both seemed just as bewildered as he did. The door to one of the bedrooms had been left slightly open, and light wafted into the hallway from its confinements; the noise growing louder as Desmond came closer. Slowly, realization donned on him, and he ground his teeth together roughly, his bare feet moving across the floor just a bit faster. If that girl was doing anything to his mansion, he would throw her out to the Tribals himself.

He shoved the door completely open, noticing the girl's dirty mutt laying on his bed- _his_ bed. The bathroom door was open, and ignoring Dogmeat's disapproving growl, Desmond stormed inside.

"Smoothskin, do you have any idea what time it is? What in-" Desmond began, but stopped as the girl turned to him. Protruding from her mouth was a tiny little white stick; similar to a thermometer, if he remembered correctly. The sink faucet was running, and a brightly designed tube lay on the counter, "What in Calvert's name are you _doing_?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Ash asks, giving him the most curious look he'd ever seen, "Wait… are you serious?"

"Of course I'm bloody serious, it's almost midnight!" Desmond demands, and he hears Dogmeat growl again from somewhere behind him.

Ash pauses and then she's laughing harder than she's probably ever laughed in her entire life. Desmond narrows his eyes at her outburst of giggles. Is there something on his face? He glances down to make sure his boxers hadn't fallen off and then looks back up at her hesitantly. Is she… is he… _what_?

"I'm brushing my teeth," She finally answers, pulling the stick out of her mouth and holding it out in front of her, "You know, with a toothbrush and toothpaste?"

Desmond can barely recall brushing his teeth. Ghouls don't really consider hygiene a necessity, and he doesn't really remember passing by any Smoothskins who disagreed with him, either.

"Oh… fine," He stutters. If others think _he's_ crazy, then they should see Ash, "Just… be more careful."

He turns around, fatigue already returning to tug at his eyelids. Before he can reside back into his bedroom, he hears a soft, "Goodnight!" from the other end of the hallway.

Desmond only pauses for a split second before stepping into his bedroom, and closing the door behind him.

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**A/N: Chapter Two is up, SHABAM. Aw, poor Desmond and his teeth problems xD See that box down there****? It's open for business ;D Hope you all enjoyed!**


	3. Confessions

**A/N: This took me a bit longer to finish than I originally thought it would, but I'm sick so I've had the time to work on it. And I've got a crazy storyline thought of, which, **_**might **_***wink wink* even venture into the Capital Wasteland… Anyways, thanks to everyone who has favorited or reviewed! You guys are awesome :D Enjoy!**

_**FancyLadySnackCakes**_**- Yeah, I realized that my lack of swearing on Desmond's part wasn't really fitting his personality xD I'm slowly warming up to his potty mouth. Thanks for the review!**

_**AmazonaV**_**- I was actually kind of disappointed at how little amount of Desmond fics there were. Hopefully this'll be acceptable :P**

_**Nanicane**_**- Me too, haha. Thanks for your review!**

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"You never told me your name."

Desmond looks up at Ash, who is busy cleaning her shotgun in front of him. She'd been planning on making her trip to the Cathedral later that day, just like he'd asked her, but before she went she insisted on tidying up her weaponry and supplies, and to her that meant every goddamn possession she could ever own. He'd been watching her for nearly an hour so far, leaning against the wall with his arms and legs crossed, his head drooping tiredly and then shooting back up with each minute that passed.

It was her statement that brought him back to reality. He wasn't accustomed to introductions, so the option of giving her that information had never really crossed his mind. He considered ignoring her, but she was doing him a bigger favor than he thought she'd ever agree to, so he grumbled under his breath, "Desmond."

"Desmond? That's it?" She asks, looking up at him beneath her thick eyelashes and Desmond's gaze snaps down toward his shoes.

"Lockheart. Desmond Lockheart," He says, more to his boots than her. She doesn't reply, and he welcomes the silence, but he surprises himself when he's the one to break it, "And what about you, _Aisling_?"

"_Ash_," She corrects, "My dad chose Aisling Skye. It's kind of cheesy, but my mom was never around to give him much help with that kind of stuff. I don't think I have a last name, or if I do, then I don't know it."

"What, did mommy run off with another lad?" Desmond asks, mainly because it sounds exactly like his childhood. How he can remember, he barely knows, but the painful look that flashes across Ash's face halts his thoughts altogether.

"No," She murmurs, biting her lip, "No, uh, she went into cardiac arrest after giving birth to me. She's passed."

"_Fuck me_," Desmond whispers under his breath and quickly answers, "Sorry, Smoothskin, I didn't know… I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine; you didn't know." Aisling agrees before he can continue. She rubs a piece of cloth over a smudge on the barrel of her shotgun and says without looking up, "I don't need pity anyways… Which reminds me; what I _do_ need is a bit of help."

"What_ kind_ of help?" Desmond asks, raising an eyebrow.

Aisling glances to the ground with a smirk, and Desmond follows her gaze and groans automatically. Her mutt, Dogmeat, lifts his head at the noise and wags his tail like he'd just been praised.

"No," Desmond growls, "No fucking way."

"It's only for a few days, maybe not even that!" Aisling insists, grabbing his arm before he can walk away like he'd done when she first asked to stay in the mansion, "Please?"

Desmond sighs and turns to her, and then the mutt, and back to her. He slumps his shoulders in defeat.

"Fine, whatever makes you get to the Cathedral faster." He mutters and Ash releases her grip on his forearm with a brilliant smile.

"Thanks, Desmond!" She calls as he walks away, and he grumbles back as a response, but that's all Ash needs. After exchanging goodbyes to Dogmeat and gathering her essentials into her backpack, Ash steps out of the mansion, breathing in the musky, damp, green-hued air that was Point Lookout. She could see the Cathedral from a distance, and began heading in that direction. It would be easier to just slip on her Pip-Boy and follow its trustful markers, but she'd hidden it in the deepest pockets of her backpack and it was meant to stay that way until she returned to the Capital Wasteland.

From the second floor of the mansion, Desmond watches her stroll casually away through the scope of his rifle. Dogmeat whines nervously beside him as he watches his master disappear from his vision, and Desmond pauses before hesitantly scratching the mutt behind the ear, which seems to calm his nerves.

Frankly, Desmond feels the same way.


	4. Hope

**A/N: So yeah. It's been a while. A long, **_**long**_**, LONG while. How has everyone been? Catch any new shows recently? Aha.. ha.. Yeah, here's a chapter update after three months. Sorry for any mistakes, I just had this random urge to write and write I did. Enjoy!**

_**Nanicane**_**: Thank you, dearest! Yeah, I believe Desmond is going to be quite angry at himself soon. **

_**Idontifihaveaname**_**: Thank you, sir and or ma'am. **

_**Gothalla123**_**: Aww, thank you!**

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He waits for one, two, three and finally four whole days before he begins to worry.

He tried keeping his mind busy as best as he could until Aisling returned, like shooting the Locals that got too close to the mansion which he'd never cared to worry about before, fixing the collapsed floors that the fucking smoothskin had broken and even visiting his friend Plik, but nothing seemed to work.

Sitting in a chair facing the window where he'd originally watched her depart from the mansion, Desmond glances down at Dogmeat, who lies on the floor close to his shoes, staring up at him with wide eyes. Desmond spots an old, unidentifiable bone leaning against the wall covering in fits of dusty cobwebs. He almost never enters this section of the mansion, so there's no telling how the bone got there. Leaning down, he brushing off the offending webs and slides the bone across the floorboards toward Dogmeat. It comes to a halt by his snout and he barely gives it second glimpse before he licks his lips and lets out a soft, saddened sigh.

"She'll be back soon, Meatdog," Desmond says, a bit tickled by his own joke. He turns back to the window and immediately makes out the shadow of a dark figure walking toward the mansion. Desmond nearly chokes from relief as he scrambles out of the chair, shakily grasping his rifle and peering through the scope at the person. He refrains himself from yelling out to her in delight, his curiosity upon her return eating away at what little control he had left.

When the figure finally comes into view, Desmond's heart drops so far he can almost hear it shatter. The person is definitely not Ash, but a Tribal woman carrying a tire iron with black, crazily chopped hair. His jaw clenches tightly and Desmond takes a deep breath through his nose to calm himself.

He returns his sight through the scope and shoots the woman as quickly as he can.

* * *

Ash is crying.

Apart from when her dad died, she can't remember a time where she's ever cried so hard.

First of all, her mind was still jumbled from the Mother Punga, or whatever the hell the person on the intercom back at the Cathedral had called it. She sat against the door leading to the Sacred Bog, knees pulled to her chest and head in her hands. Her shotgun lies in the dirt and muck beside her, but she barely cares to give it any thought.

The visions bubbled in her cloudy mind; her dad, still alive and pacing around the Rivet City lab, Mr. Burke and his never-ending supply of love letters, Gob being hit by Moriarty at the saloon counter, Charon sitting idly back in her home in Megaton, Butch drinking himself to death in the Muddy Rudder, MacCready cursing and stomping around Little Lamplight, Amata trying to reconstruct Vault 101 and finally the skeleton of her mother lying on an old, creaky hospital bed with colorful balloons and party hats decorating her bones.

She should have never come to Point Lookout in the first place.


End file.
